Uncertain Circumstances
by Isabeau de Foix
Summary: An attack leaves her in a six month coma. When she wakes up, everything's changed and everyone she ever cared for is gone. Why is she still alive? What part will she be forced to play in Voldemort’s sinister plot and how will Malfoy fit in? SUMMARY WITHIN
1. Chapter 1: Alive

**AU An attack leaves Hermione Granger in a six month coma. Yet when she wakes up alone and not remembering anything, everything is changed and everyone she ever cared for is gone. She too was thought to be dead untill she stumbled into an old foe in her search for answers. She finds herself in a world where half of London has practically been destroyed, and wizarding England is under the vicious rule of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Why is she still alive? What part will she be forced to play in Voldemort's sinister plot? Will she be able to piece the scattered shards of the past six months together before it is too late? And most importantly, what part does Draco Malfoy play in all of this?**

**Rated M for violence, language, abuse and sexual content. Those who are easily offended have been warned! Overall this will be a very dark fic!**

**Hope you enjoy!**

**Uncertain Circumstances**

Chapter 1: Alive

Amber eyes shot open with a start, followed by a sharp, almost excruciating intake of breath. Her pupils shrank to adjust to the sudden wave of light.

Then came the coughing.

After a few minute passed and she had calmed down, she slowly started to look at the surroundings, her mind still blank. She lay on a hospital bed. Various wires were attached to her arms and chest that connected to different medical equipment. However, everything was shut off in the room, blanketed by a not so thin layer of dust.

She struggled to get up, however, almost immediately she fell backwards. Only then did the overwhelming physical pain wash over her, in powerful waves. She could barely raise her head without spikes of pain shooting up her spine. Her muscles were tender, as if due to lack of use.

She frantically began to search the room with her gaze, as if desperately hoping to find an answer. However, only more questions began to flood her already numb brain.

Why was she here?

What had happened to her?

Where was everyone?

Millions of other trivial questions followed, but one particular query made the torrent in her mind come to an abrupt halt.

Who was she?

This one question she kept asking herself, over and over again, however, no answer came to mind.

She didn't know.

She didn't remember…

Gingerly, she once again tried to sit up. It took great effort, nonetheless, after a few very long minutes, she was able to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her bare feet came in contact with the cold tiles on the floor. The sensation was almost overwhelming. The cold surface slightly cooled down the boiling pain surging through her veins.

She ripped off all the wires attached to her body, seeing no use for them. However, now came the challenge of standing up. She placed her arms on a metal pole used to hold up some of the wires that has previously been attached to her body. Curling her fingers around the pole, she slowly began lifting herself upwards, desperately trying to forget the soreness she felt.

Her body was numb from lack of use; she could still feel the strain on her tender muscles. She clung to the pole for dear life as she forced her body to respond. Her breathing came in short ragged breaths due to the current strain she was under. Once she had successfully pulled herself in a somewhat upright position, she began inspecting the room with her almost hawk like gaze.

She noted that she was wearing only a green hospital gown, and nothing else. The room was fairly large, with beds identical to her own spread around it. However, there was no one else in these beds. Medical cabinets holding supplies of all sorts lined one wall of the room. Apart from these few items, however, the room was very vacant and clinical looking.

The only light came from a sole window that overlooked a city. She slowly started to make her way towards the window, tightly holding on to the metal pole, which was her only support. As she neared the window, she gasped in horror.

The sight was that of ironic desolation as the last few rays of afternoon light flooded a seemingly abandoned city. No cars or people littered the streets. Some shop windows were perfectly stocked while others lay in ruins, destroyed by what might have been giant explosions. Momentarily she had forgotten the pain that she was in, as she gawked at the peculiar sight that greeted her eyes.

Had there been a war here? An epidemic? What else could explain the eerie scene?

Not only did she not know who she was or what she was doing there, there didn't seem to be anyone around to answer said questions. Slowly, she turned around, and glanced around the room in search of some clues.

Only then did she see the side table next to her bed upon which there were a few vases filled with flowers.

Dead flowers.

On a chair next to her bed, she spotted a set of neatly folded clothes. She started making her way towards the chair, deciding upon trying to dress herself for future exploration of the current situation. She gingerly sat on the bed and reached out for the clothing. As she did so, a thin wooden stick fell from within the folds of the clothing. She struggled to pick it up and inspect it. As she gripped the thin piece of wood, images began to flood her brain.

Images of green light and screaming.

People were screaming and running around her. It was chaos. The deathly familiar flashes of emerald light surged through the air, striking anyone in their path.

_A black hooded figure approached her._

"_Avad…"_

"_Expelliarmus!" she screamed, interrupting the figure whose wand immediately flew out of reach. "Levicorpus!" she continued, causing the hooded person to rise in the air, being held by some unseen force_.

She fell back on the bed, almost knocked out by the vivid image. She still held the thin wooden piece.

The wand. Yes. It was a wand, she remembered now. And she was a witch. Or not. Maybe she was just going crazy, she tried to reason.

Suddenly, thousands of incantations begun to flood her brain at a startling pace.

Images of a place she knew as Hogwarts begun to overflow her mind along with people that semed oh so familiar. People she must have known. Places she must have been to.

The sudden burst of memory excited, yet also frightened her for she still could not remember who she was. So far, she only knew one thing for sure; she was a witch… maybe. She still hadn't ruled out the possibility of insanity.

It was so common these days.

Forcefully, she pushed everything else currently occupying her mind to the back of her brain, for the task at hand still remained. She could ponder things later, after she got dressed.

Slowly, she eased out of the green gown and begun to dress herself. It felt so unfamiliar and strained. Like something she hadn't done for years. After a good ten minutes, she had successfully managed to dress herself. She now wore a pair of black pants and a simple black shirt.

Using the support of the metal pole, she pulled herself upwards once more. The sun had almost set now, leaving the room in a state of semidarkness. Her rational side told her it would be best to wait for morning before daring to leave her current sanctuary, however, the other side of her encouraged her to go in search of the many answers that she hoped for. It felt like the right thing to do.

Before preparing to start the long walk ahead though, she glanced at the abandoned bed once more, noticing she had left the 'wand' on it. She grabbed the wooden stick in a loose grip, fingering its smooth, familiar surface. With sudden inspiration, she held the wand above her head.

"Lu-l-lumos!" she whispered. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, brilliant white light illuminated the room. Light being emitted from the tip of her wand. Maybe luck was on her side after all. She slowly begun to move, deciding it was time to abandon her trusty metal pole, her only current 'friend', for it was too heavy to drag out of the room and God only knew where.

'Great, first I'm a witch now I'm starting to refer to metal object as 'friends'!' she thought, an ironic smile gracing her features.

She slowly began to move out of the room, taking small steps. She felt like she was going to collapse any moment. As she reached the door, she glanced in the room one last time. The wand was held steadily over her head, illuminating everything in a fairly eerie manner.

She noticed a clipboard hanging from the door. Hastily she grabbed it, unsure of the possibilities that the paper clipped on it might hold. As she read the sheet, a small triumphant smile formed on her lips. The sheet was filled with information scribbled in messy handwriting that she could barely make out; however, she only cared about one thing.

**Patient Name:** Hermione Granger

**Date of Admission:** Jan. 12, 2006

"Hermione Granger. Hermione. I'm Hermione." She whispered to no one in particular. Her own voice sounded so strange in the gloomy silence surrounding her. She ripped the paper out of the clipboard and securely tucked it into the pocket of her pants before continuing on her path towards the nearest exit.

Half an hour and four staircases later, she found herself facing the front entrance. Slowly, she walked through the revolving glass doors and into the cool night air. It felt so good to be able to breath fresh air, not the stale air in the building. For a few minutes she just stood there, looking up at the dark sky painted with millions of silver stars.

The cold air stung her lungs, which burned from the effort that she was currently exerting upon herself. She didn't care, though. More important things lay ahead.

She was so tired, but she had to continue. She didn't know where she would go or what she would do. However, she tried not to think of that. She would take everything one step at a time. She begun to walk down the sidewalk, not quite sure of where she would end up, or which direction to take yet getting the feeling that her subconscious was taking her somewhere. She supported herself with one hand, leaning against various walls.

There were no lights on anywhere and the only light was that produced by her wand. The faint, silvery glow seemed to almost be swallowed up in the sinister night.

The streets were deserted, devoid of any sign of life. At certain moments, she would get the feeling of being watched or of not being alone, however, there was no one in sight. She didn't dare thing what might lurk in the various buildings surrounding her, that lay in hopeless shambles.

She walked for about another half hour before getting the sense that she was where she needed to be. She glanced around. Everything was deserted. On the sidewalk next to her were two shops. One appeared to have once been a bookshop while the other might have served as a record store at some point. However, both were now in a state of utter ruin. In between the two stores was a neatly perched, nondescript building, with an ancient looking wooden door leading inside.

She glanced at the curious looking door for a few moments before realizing her feet could no longer hold her up. She was dead tired. She felt like her tired muscles would give in at any moment.

No. She knew they could no longer hold her up. Her conscience yelled for her to go through the door, however, it was too late. Her fatigue finally caught up with her causing her to unceremoniously fall to the ground. The whole rather frightening situation began to fade into a gulf of darkness.

And she didn't know whether she had blacked out before hitting the solid ground or if someone had caught her just in time.

The lit wand fell to the ground, it's silvery light extinguishing…

...

It was safe to say that he wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten himself into his current situation. One minute, he was strolling through The Leaky Cauldron, just having finished running some errands in Diagon Alley. The next moment, however, Tom sprang past him, hurriedly making his way towards the front entrance where another wizards had just brought in a girl who had fainted in front of the door. Out of pure curiosity, he had made his way towards the commotion to see who it was and what had happened. However, he most certainly did not expect what he saw next.

On the dusty floor lay an unconscious girl. She was stick thin, with light brown hair, however, upon further inspection, he realized it was none other than Hermione Granger. He had concluded this after noticing the thin gold chain she wore around her neck. The same one she had had since her first year at Hogwarts.

"Oh dear, this isn't good at all," said Tom while fussing over the girl. "Someone needs to get some help. Call a mediwizard." He exclaimed to no one in particular.

"Out of the way Tom, I have the situation under control," he suddenly found himself saying as he stepped toward the scene.

"Lord Malfoy, it's an honor to be graced by your presence here," said Tom while bowing deeply.

Ass kissing really was not his forte in Draco's opinion.

"I'm sure," his reply was thick with sarcasm, "I can handle the situation form here. This one's just another mudblood runaway. I'm under special orders to…take care of her." He said with a malicious glint in his concrete eyes.

"If I can be of any assistance your lordship.."

"No need Tom, as I said I can handle it from here. However, let's keep this little incident between the two of us, understood?" he said, not taking his stony gaze off the little man, thus effectively making him squirm, "Because if you don't, well, I'll be very cross. You really don't want to get me cross now do you Tom?"

"N-n-no your lordship, I am your devoted servant," stammered the petrified innkeeper.

"Good."

Without another word, Draco picked her up and immediately apparated, leaving behind him only a very startled Tom. Within seconds, he appeared in front of Malfoy Manor, and soon made his way one of the lushly decorated bedrooms that Malfoy Manor was notoriously known for, where he deposited the unconscious Hermione.

Draco called forth one of the numerous house elves who immediately appeared with a light pop. He instructed for the little creature to immediately summon the trusted family mediwizard before dismissing him.

Only after everything was settled did the young Malfoy take the time to consider his current predicament. He glanced at the unconscious form of the girl lying on the bed, inspecting every single detail.

She wore black pants and a shirt that hung loosely off of her skinny form. She was much thinner than she had been the last time he had seen her.

That had been at more than half a year before.

Her honey brown hair hung well past her mid-back is shaggy layers. It was obvious that her hair had not been cut or even tamed for a lengthy while. Her face was corpse white as was the rest of her body. Her breathing was ragged, he noticed. Upon further inspection, he noticed what had once been a multitude of scars all across her arms. However, they had long healed, thus leaving light markings on her ivory skin.

They had been healed without the use of magic, he had concluded.

He took a seat on a nearby chair still watching her sleeping form with hawk like precision. He hadn't brought her there because he was a good Samaritan.

Far from it.

To most, the girl would be nothing but a mudblood, shunned from the new society that had formed ever since the rise of the Lord. However, many also didn't know that after his rise, the Dark Lord had placed forth a reward for anyone who could find her and bring her to him.

Alive.

The elite few who knew about this did not think much of it. They all thought he wanted her for some sort of information.

However, Draco new better.

She was nothing more than a fugitive. One of the few survivors of the light side. But one thing was all wrong in this current state of affairs. She had disappeared long before the final battle and the untimely death of her former best friends. Everyone, including himself, had expected her to be dead.

He hadn't given it much thought until earlier that day when he had recognized her on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Now, he wanted, no, he needed to know why the Dark Lord was still searching for her. There had to be something to it. Something much more sinister than any of them has suspected.

Especially since the Dark Lord's health was also another matter at hand. But about this matter, he was very certain that only he knew. After all, he was the right hand man of Voldemort. He had occupied this position just after the final battle, due to his loyalty to the dark side and the amount of damage he had caused to the light side.

Draco was soon brought out of his deep whirlwind of thoughts by a light tap on the mahogany door leading to the room.

"Enter!"

"Master Draco, Wimpy has brought Dr. Greenford as you asked," said a small house elf.

"You did well Wimpy. Show him in.," replied Draco standing. The small creatures glowed with pride before bringing in a middle-aged wizard. He wore his graying hair long, along with his beard. He was dressed in immaculate midnight blue robes. He had an imposing presence even though he was much shorter when compared to Draco's height of 6'3.

"You asked to see me, Lord Malfoy?" he stated more than asked while bowing deeply.

"Indeed I did, Greenford. I want you to take a look at someone for me," he said, motioning to the form on the bed, "I need to know exactly what's wrong to her, and possibly, what caused it."

"How long has she been in this state, my Lord?" asked Greenford while taking out his wand and proceeding to walk towards the bed.

"I'm not sure. I found her about a half hour ago. She was passed out. But that's all I know of," said Draco, an unreadable look in his eyes, "She's supposed to be dead…"

"Merlin… well I will do everything that is in my power, your lordship," said the older wizard, "Please, take a seat while I begin. I shall announce to you when I'm done."

"Actually, I have some owls that I need to send," replied Draco. He trusted leaving the wizard alone, even though he would still instruct the house elves to keep an eye on him. One could never be too careful. "I'll return in about half an hour."

"Very well, your lordship. As you wish."

Draco left the room and after telling the house elves his precise wishes he made his way to his study. It was lavishly decorated room consisting of dark Rococo style furniture and heavy tapestries. Above the fireplace hung a custom made painting of himself as a child accompanied by his parents. The perfect family some would say.

It was far from true.

He sat at the large carved mahogany desk and proceeded to begin writing replies to those important enough to receive one. However, his mind was still concentrated upon the mystery at hand. The mystery of the supposedly dead, newly alive, Hermione Granger. He tightly gripped the delicate Phoenix feather quill he was used to write with. However, he forced himself to concentrate upon the task at hand.

Once he had finished, he made his way to the mansion owlery. The messages were not important enough that he had to use his own personal owl. After sending each and every letter he finally returned back to the room where he had left Greenford with the comatose Granger.

"You're back, your lordship. I have quite a bit to tell you," said the mediwizard jumping off of the chair that he had been previously occupying. Draco took a seat facing him.

"Go ahead."

"Well, so far I have concluded that her current state was induced be exhaustion and lack of muscular stimulation. There are certain marks on her body indicating to a fairly violent incident occurring to her. Some of the marks were caused by magic while others were purely due to physical violence," started the elder wizard.

" I was able to conclude this from the way some of the marks were healed. One such example can be seen on her lower abdomen," he said, standing up and walking over to the bed. He pulled up the black material of the shirt to reveal a mauve colored disfigurement about two inches in length.

"This was made by a magical weapon of some sort. From my experience, I believe it to have been a mildly poisoned magical dagger. The poison on it causes the victim extreme fatigue which may eventually have led to unconsciousness. If it is not treated properly, it will continue to weaken the body possibly leading to death," he continued. Draco was transfixed by him.

"However, this is only the beginning. My theory is that they young lady was involved in a fight of sorts. The dagger wound caused her much energy loss, thus making the curses thrown at her from her adversaries have double the effects. Also, the intense loss of blood did her even more damage," continued Greenford before taking a deep breath. "My theory is that the combination of physical and magical wounds caused her to be extremely week thus allowing whatever was later cast on her to have an even more serious affect."

"What exactly do you mean? Is it lasting?" asked Draco standing up and walking towards the bed.

"It cannot be told just yet."

"Fine, but how is it she has been able to survive all of these moths without anyone finding her or without her dying."

"Ah yes. That is indeed a good question. My individual conjecture is that towards the end of the battle, someone threw a petrification spell at her thus leading her to collapse and probably hit her head upon a hard surface."

"Yes, fine, but what does this mean?" asked Draco impatiently.

"The corporeal and magical wounds that she suffered, along with the collision…well I believe that it lead her whole system to collapse. She was in a very critical condition and eventually her brain signaled everything to shut down."

"You mean…?"

"A coma, Mr. Malfoy."

"A come?" repeated Malfoy, with a dumbfound expression.

"Indeed. I have been able to deduce from the pitiable healing of her wounds, that she had probably been taken to a muggle hospital, where the obvious lack of knowledge regarding magical wounds would have caused the attendants to not heal her properly." Continued the doctor, as he pointed to her arms, which has clearly been scared. "As you well know, your Lordship, healing through magic leaves no scaring of the tissue."

"Certainly. But what of the coma. Because, as an educated guess, I am to assume that she has been in this comatose state probably ever since her disappearance more than six months ago, and may only have woken up within the past few days. But as you well know doctor, muggle London as well as the nearby surroundings has practically been destroyed. No hospital could have possibly kept her as a patient, or we would have known about it," said Draco, regaining his stony expression.

"Of course, Lord Malfoy. Well simply put, I believe that before leaving her in a muggle hospital, whoever first took her there, may have placed a protective healing charm on her," began the old wizard, furrowing his brow in concentration. "Such charms work much like a literal bubble encompassing the victim that provides all the necessities of life, magically, so that the individual placed under it is able to naturally regain consciousness, while also being provided with nourishment and energy through magic. The charm is only of minimal strength, thus not being able to heal the patient magically, but simply protect from the surrounding environment."

"Interesting. I final question for you, Greenford, what are the aftereffects of such an experience?" asked the young Draco Malfoy, wishing the fully grasp the severity of the situation.

"Well there may be long term problems with internal organs that have been affected, however this can easily be fixed. The magical wound has to be healed as soon as possible. Weakness will obviously arise, but worst of all there may be some memory loss," replied the wizard, not quite making any eye contact.

"Memory loss? How severe?" asked an agitated Draco, rising to his feet. He most certainly did not need a mudblood that would be unable to answer any questions.

"I am unable to tell at the moment. If it is of a lower degree, you simply have to provide the young lady with a potion which I can easily brew for your lordship. However, if the lack of memory is severe, nothing can be done except wait for the natural healing process of the mind to occur. This can take place anywhere from days to years, it all depends upon how powerful her mind is."

"The Gods be dammed!" whispered Malfoy. "Very well then, your services are no longer needed. However, before you may go, heal her wounds, and I expect the potion from you by tomorrow."

"As you wish your Lordship, if will only take a matter of minutes," replied the old wizard, however, Malfoy had already disappeared through the door, guided by his own thoughts in regards to the matter.

**Did a bit of revising, hope you all like! Please review, I wish to hear all of your comments. Next chapter up very soon!**


	2. Chapter 2: War

**Uncertain Circumstances**

Chapter 2: War

Two days had passed, during which time she has only woken for vague moments, after which once again falling into a deep and turbulent slumber. Draco Malfoy was not sure how to react, even though the mediwizard had instructed him that this would certainly occur. The memory loss potion had safely been administered to her, as well, and now all he could do was be patient, which was one field in which he had never been particularly gifted.

He wanted Granger awake and lucid so that he would be able to question her before the Dark Lord had a chance to. However, he knew that this would most likely not transpire since Voldemort had requested his presence, later that evening.

It was to be a private meeting, this much he knew since none of his other fellow Death Eaters had been summoned. During the early afternoon of that day, he found himself impatiently pacing in his study, not quite sure as to what to do.

On one side, he could keep her presence hidden, until he found out why the Dark Lord requested that Hermione Granger be immediately found, and brought forth to him. This could prove to be somewhat difficult though, especially if she regained consciousness as well as her memory. She would fight him like a banshee, this much he figured, even though he would take the utmost pleasure in breaking her spirit.

The more severe problem regarding that plan however, was that Voldemort would eventually know of her presence. He would undoubtedly come across the information that Draco had kept her away from his master. He could probe Draco's mind all he wanted, but would find no information since his shields were far too strong. However, once Draco presented his master with the Mudblood, which would eventually occur, Voldemort could easily search her mind and find out the truth. This would put Draco in a severely unpleasant situation, and he could most definitely not risk disfavour in his master's eyes. Not after all the effort he had placed into winning back his lord's good graces after Malfoy Sr.'s many failures.

An not if his plans were to ever be put into action.

This only left him with the second choice of airing his discovery to Voldemort, during tonight's meeting. Not only would the information earn him a position of even higher esteem within the demon's eyes, but he would also be able to understand the importance of the Mudblood, at least to some extent. In his mind, the matter was settled, even though he wished beyond all hope that she would awaken.

Unfortunately for him, she never did.

That evening, at five minutes to seven, Draco Malfoy was impeccably clad in formal black dress robes that deeply contrasted with his insipid features, giving him an aristocratic sense of authority and power. After bidding his mother farewell, he made his way across the marble entrance hall towards the main door, and out into the darkness of the night. Once off the property, he apparated to his master's layer, housed at none other than England's own magical school, Hogwarts.

Not surprisingly, his surrounding seemed to be much gloomier, in contrast to his school years, probably due to the Dementors that guarded every perimeter. The creatures always managed to make Draco highly uneasy, even though he had learned to never show his discomfort.

As he made his way across the lush green fields, towards the imposing structure of the castle, he contemplated the past few months and how much everything had changed. He had come to the sad realization that most of the people that surrounded him, the elite pureblood society, were all a bunch of pathetic, inbred brutes.

War had done this to him.

For centuries, these people had harshly preached the importance of purity, yet ironically, this had only led to the creation of a weak population. His own family served as a prime example. His mother had only bore one child, and even this had been done with much difficulty, almost costing her life which had simply been speared so that she may suffer later on in life, due to her weak immune system.

The same had generally happened to all other pureblood families. It was a wonder that no one had questioned the reason behind this curse of sorts. As for their few offspring, they had all been thought since birth to continue valuing the essence of blood, creating virtual monsters. It never ceased to amaze Draco as to the absolute stupidity possessed by the people that now surrounded him. Only a select few had been speared this defect at birth, thus having the ability to stand as equals next to Draco. These would be the only that would truly survive. As for the rest, they were all a bunch of mindless swine whose actions were barbaric, to say the least.

He had seen it all take place in front of his very eyes, and he did not even flinch at their actions. Not even for a second, because that depicted weakness, and Malfoys were definitely not weak specimens, not at mind at least.

During the past few months however, he had also changed. He had grown up, and hardened. He knew it was certainly not something that one should be proud of, however, he no longer felt anything. He cared for his mother, but that was a given, even though sometimes he wondered if she died, how he would react. As for everyone else, why should they matter?

They didn't.

He had watched numerous people get killed, in the most horrendous of ways. He had witnessed torture far beyond anyone's wildest dreams. He had even administered said torture a good many 

times. He had impassively watched women get raped by his supposed equals, and not once had he felt a single smidgen of emotion.

And why should he?

This was war.

War did this to people. It caused them to become monsters and as sad as it may have been, Draco Malfoy knew he was quite close to being exactly that. He knew that nothing and no one would ever be able to save him from the destiny he had mentally set up for himself. The love of his mother had not been able to save him, and everyone else really did not matter.

He sometimes wondered whether love even really existed, or if people were just trained to believe it did. He only loved one person and that was himself. And he also loved victory, and he knew it would soon be his

The only thing that seemed to play any importance in his current life was his victory. He knew Voldemort's time was coming to an end quite soon. After he lost his battle with life, Draco could easily step up and take what was once rightfully his. Take it away from him. He was nothing but a half-blood. And even though that no longer played so much importance, he was nothing but a traitor to his own people, his own side. Draco would make sure he paid for that. Not many things held much importance to him, however, he had always regarded honour as a highly crucial thing, and this being towards which he possessed so much hatred did not seem to possess this highly coveted aspect of human nature. Voldemort's excuse was that he was not human, yet what was the others' excuse?

Draco was meant to do great things. He would make them all bow down before him. All those stupid brutes that used violence as their only tactic. He would make sure to do something with the decrepit world within which they now lived.

He walked up the stone steps pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his mind, and preparing his mental barriers to keep the beast out of his only sanctuary. He soon entered what had once been the great hall. The room seemed considerably darker. The enchanted sealing displayed dark clouds that took over the sky.

It had been a miserable day.

The room was lined in torches blazing through the darkness, while the only furniture in the room was a large, grotesquely ornate throne. The being occupying the throne was most clearly not of any human form or nature.

Draco Malfoy bowed low to the ground under the demonic gaze of slit like eyes, ruby, like the fires of hell. They followed his every calculated movement.

"You may rise, my servant," hissed a voice, pertaining to the creature seated.

"My Lord, you asked for my presence this evening?" replied Draco.

"Indeed, there are some matters of great importance that I wish to discuss with you, but I feel that there is something you wish to inform me of first. It is written in your eyes," said Voldemort, his figure visibly slouched in the throne as if under immense pain.

"Indeed I do, your eminence," replied Draco with a phantom smirk. "I come bearing news, which will hopefully please you. As per your orders, I have been able to locate the Mudblood, Hermione Granger," he continued, causing Voldemort's eyes to light up in pleasure.

"Excellent! I only wish all could prove such loyalty, Draco. I wish for her presence immediately."

"Indeed, my Lord. There is a problem, however. She is currently unconscious due to unknown damage that she has sustained. I found her this way, unfortunately disabling me to know what has happened to her," continued Malfoy, careful to not avoid the creature's eyes.

"How unfortunate. This sets me back once more," said Voldemort, a thoughtful expression grazing his serpent features.

"My personal physician has checked her, and he believes that she has suffered from a coma, accompanied by extensive physical damage," continued Draco, taking his cue. "However, he believes that she should regain consciousness soon as she is merely suffering from severe exhaustion."

"I see. Under such circumstances then, I wish for the Mudblood to be brought before me immediately upon regaining consciousness, is that clear my servant?"

"Yes, my Lord. As your eminence wishes," replied Draco, bowing his head once more.

"As for the reason to our meeting, it will be postponed. I shall address you after probing her mind, which should be soon, for we do not have much time."

"My Lord?"

"My time is coming to an end, Draco. We both know this, however, I do not wish for my life's work to be destroyed," began Voldemort. "This body I have constructed for myself is far too weak to continue sustaining me. Once I pass on, my legacy is to be maintained. We will discuss this further the next time we meet, but for now, just understand that the Mudblood plays a crucial part in my plans."

"As you wish, your eminence," was the only thing Draco said in response.

"You may now go. Your news has greatly improved my current moods," said Voldemort, signalling Draco to take his leave, only after bowing once again.

His mind underwent a torrent of thoughts on his journey back to the manor. His interest had been spurred even further as to the current situation regarding the Mudblood. It was unfathomable to him as to what possible importance she could be of in Voldemort's plans. Nevertheless, the knowledge that the demon's life was soon coming to an end contented him immensely. The Gods had graciously chosen to remove the largest obstacle currently blocking his path, and this, he was thankful for.

This of course had been achieved through Harry Potter's diligent efforts in destroying all Horocruxes, something Draco was not supposed to be aware of.

His plan was quite simple, really. He dreamed of creating a utopian society, towards which only the strongest survived. They would be the modern Spartans. In this world, rank was not to be measured through blood, but through strength, for it would be survival of the fittest. To create this world, he knew that Voldemort would have to be eliminated first, followed by is most loyal followers, even though this would not be too hard.

The past generation viewed Voldemor's visions as idyllic, but their children, Draco's generation, had no real value for them. The battle no longer revolved around blood, it revolved around power, and Draco had been somewhat smart enough to understand this many years prior.

He had never worshipped his father's Halfblood lord.

In his master plan, Voldemort had played a crucial part, by purifying the wizarding population, in the sense that only the strongest survived. This did not only mean Purebloods, but it encompassed everyone who had been smart enough to live, even if they were currently hidden in some obscure cave or what not. The new battle would purify their world of all those weak Purebloods that had remained standing throughout the war, due to the protection offered to them by their master.

Those who remained would be a race encompassing the strongest and wisest.

Those who survived.

And this new race of modern witches and wizards would be reigned over by none other than he, Draco Malfoy. He understood that the only way of ensuring the survival of his race would be through the intermingling of the blood lines. Old blood would have to mix with new, so as to give birth to a generation stronger than ever before, a generation that did not prize blood over everything.

...

Pansy Parkinson was not beautiful. At least she had never considered herself as such by conventional terms.

During her years of school, people had often referred to her as resembling a pug. Even though this association was largely exaggerated and far from true, it had had a great effect on the young girl, and seemingly set her destiny in stone.

Her hair had been a lacklustre shade of black that fell just below her shoulders in a shapeless mass and always seemed rather greasy. Her skin was as pale as that of a corpse, often making her look rather pasty in contrast to her dark hair. As for her facial features, they had never really been overly defined. She had a small, button nose, thin pale lips and a heart shaped face that gave her chin a rather pointed appearance.

The only feature that seemed to ever win her any praise was her eyes. They were unusual to say the least, but not in a negative way. They were lime coloured, like those of a feline. Dark lashes framed her almond shaped eyes giving her a look of childish innocence.

She had been shorter than most of her school mates, something that she had always seen as a great disadvantage. She had never really been the girl with the lean long legs, and graceful figure. Instead, she had always been short, slightly pudgy, not attractive at all Pansy.

This had caused her to come to the conclusion that she would not get anywhere in life based on her looks; therefore, the cunning Slytherin that she was, she had taken an interest in other methods of manipulation.

After much diligent study and practice, she had become a master of seduction, able to manipulate even the most rigid of males into melting at her feet and doing her bidding.

Her talents further evolved to even encompass the female population, thus giving her a great advantage over anyone who ever dared question her. Nevertheless, this talent of hers was not based on her looks, but rather on her personality, and dark mystique.

Over the years she had learned the importance of positively highlighting even her most negative features, causing her to change into a confident woman rather than the shy and vile little girl that she had once been. She had her hair cut into a short angular bob that wonderfully complimented the shape of her face. Her jet-black locks were now glossy and pin straight as opposed to their previous appearance.

She had also learned the importance of makeup, and what it could do for masking one's flaws. She learned to cherish her flawless pale skin which no longer looked pasty, but rather like porcelain. She had learned how to define her features, accentuating previously non-existent cheek bones and always darkening her eyes so as to make them stand out even more.

She now embraced her small fame, and no longer referred to herself as short, but rather as petite. She mastered the art of walking on tastefully high heels that gave the onlooker the fear that she could break her neck at any moment. Men seemed to love that along with the fact that even in her five inch heeled shoes, she was still much smaller in frame by comparison. It made her seem more fragile, more innocent, even though in reality she was neither of those things.

The thing that attracted people to Pansy was her dark allure.

She always wore dark clothing, beautifully tailored to hug her shapely body but only to the point where it was appropriate. She only allowed but a glimpse of the milky white skin that lay underneath, so that imagination would further complete the image and cause the mind to wonder.

Furthermore, she never allowed people more than a glance within her soul. There was always an enigmatic aura about her that caused people to want more, to desire to know more and through that passionate need to bend to her every will.

She had perfected her calm and rather nonchalant attitude.

She was the image of tranquility, always keeping her temper in check. Very few knew how irritable she could get since she always made sure to hide her annoyance. And yet she knew how to change her attitude to match the situation. She could go from sweet and friendly, to cold and indifferent within a split second, something that often caused men to wish to return back within her good graces, no matter what it took.

Yet surprisingly, Pansy's power over men had absolutely no sexual component to it.

When glancing deep within her eyes, men often saw the most desirable of carnal pleasures being fulfilled, yet even though this promise lured them, it never really came to be. Pansy was well aware that using sex to one's advantage was fairly risky, mainly because it could not hold one's interest for prolonged periods of time. The promise of something that would never come to be however was far more alluring. Contrary to popular belief, Pansy was not a tart, and had never in her life acted as one since she knew that it would spoil the facade that she had meticulously created.

She currently sat in the reception area of Malfoy manner, awaiting the return of the master of the house. She was alone, since she did not wish to solicit Narcissa's presence due to the nature of her visit.

She was there to discuss business and nothing more.

She placidly awaited Draco's return, briefly wondering how much longer she would have to wait. Her question was soon answered however, when she heard the front doors open with a crash. She smiled to herself as she came to the conclusion that her dear, old friend may not have been in the best of moods and indeed, she was partially correct as he stalked right by the room and towards the staircase, without so much as taking in her presence.

"Draco Malfoy, you absolute cad! How dare you ignore me? And here I thought Narcissa thought you better, yet I suppose her many ruminations may have been wasted upon ignorant ears," spoke a silken voice, stopping Draco in his tracks, before he even had a chance to reach the stairs. He did not need to glance into the room to know that the person accompanying the honey voice was none other than his former Slytherin colleague, none other than Pansy Parkinson.

"Ah, my dear Ms. Parkinson, ever the pleasure," replied Draco without skipping a beat as he smoothly made his way towards her. "To what do I owe the delight of your company on such a gloomy evening? Here to cast away the fogs I presume?"

"I do believe that's more like it. Yes, in a way I am here to cast away some of the fogs that seem to have permanently settled themselves upon your brow," she replied, frowning as she glanced over his thoughtful features. "But before I share with you what I have come here to say, I do believe you owe me an explanation as to your current mood."

"Yes, that I do. But before, may I suggest that you accompany me to a room more adequate for this meeting?"

"As you wish," relied Pansy airily, not missing the meaning behind his words.

He wanted to talk in private, and this he would therefore get. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, before he gracefully led her up the grand stairs, and towards what she assumed would be his private office.

The room was of a fairly large size, with walls painted in rich burgundy, and outfitted in matching mahogany furniture. Contrary to popular belief, the house was not furnished solely in different shades of green and silver.

Once she was seated within the confines of his lush office, Draco proceed to pour himself a glass of cognac, before assuming his own seat on the other side of the desk.

"I see a sudden wave of paranoia seems to have washed over you, my dear friend. You do not trust yourself to speak even within your own manor?" she observed.

"Hard times await us Pans. You know this as well as I, therefore there is no reason for me to fathom even the slightest notion of privacy anywhere within this retched world," he replied easily. "Now, where wore we?"

"I can read the impatience in your eyes, therefore I shall keep you waiting no longer. Once I am finished however, I will hold you to answering my previous question."

His grey eyes twinkled in amusement, "As I am most certainly obliged to do."

"I bring you good news for now. I daresay my mission has gone rather smoothly and I simply wish to report to you some of our most recent conquests," she began, her voice clearly portraying how pleased she was with her accomplishment. "Stephen Cornfoot, former Ravenclaw seems more than, willing shall I say, to join our cause. The same goes for Mr. Croaker, both currently employed within the Ministry of Magic."

"Excellent. You really do have a way with the male population, I see," he teased.

"Darling, you know as well as I that Ravenclaws are the easiest blokes to manipulate, considering most of them didn't partake in any sort of social activity within their younger years," she defended.

"Yes, I do suppose no woman in her right mind would develop any interest for a Ravenclaw. Mighty tiresome specimens they are," he continued, earning a giggle from Pansy.

"Well in any case, this does provide us with two quite capable contacts within the ministry. The Department of Mysteries to be more precise," she stated triumphantly.

"Most excellence! It quite possibly is the only Department holding any importance. But this is indeed quite perfect. We need to know their precise movements regarding many issues," said Draco, more to himself. "I daresay we need to act fast however."

"Certainly. What exactly is it that we are looking for? You never truly specified."

"Truthfully, I'm not quite sure. During one of our previous meeting, he mentioned a prophecy. Thus, I am assuming the unspeakables will have some sort of knowledge as to what he was referring," said Draco. "I am assuming it is the best place to start since it is the only real information we have regarding the matter. But from what I understand, if the information it possesses is to fall into the wrong hands, presumably ours, it could truly cause him great harm, even defeat."

"That is indeed most pleasing to hear," said Pansy with a sigh. "Truthfully Draco, I don't know how much longer I can go on like this."

"I know Pans. It will be over soon though, I can feel it," he replied, hard slate eyes softening for a brief second before he took a sip from his glass, licking his dry lips.

"I hope you're right," she concluded, before her voice once more returned to formality. The moment of tenderness was broken between the two. "Now then, I do believe you owe me an explanation."

"Indeed I do. But I do believe simply showing you will be worth a thousand words," said Draco, standing up and bidding her to follow him out the door. They walked in silence through the halls of Malfoy manner, until Draco stopped in front of a non-descript door. He took his wand out and muttered a complicated enchantment to unlock the door. It opened with a soft click allowing the two passage into the seemingly mysterious room.

Pansy followed him within the chamber. A small gasp escaped her parted lips once her eyes settled upon the occupant of the room who was in a deep slumber.

"The Mudblood?" she gasped in surprise as her keen eyes searched Draco's face. "But how? Where did you find her?"

"She more or less found me," he replied quietly, looking over at the sleeping figure.

"My word, I never really took her as the imprudent type. What a stroke of luck!" said Pansy, a glint of emotion evident in her usually vacant eyes. "I'm assuming the lord is happy."

"Indeed he is. There really is only one problem, she's not sleeping right now," he said, inhaling deeply. "She's unconscious; she's been like this ever since I found her."

"Well there's a setback. I'm assuming you've had her checked?"

"That I have and I received most startling news. Apparently, the damage she sustained during an attack caused her to fall into a coma. This state was what kept her from appearing in any battles and I have reason to believe that Potter or anyone else for that matter had no idea as to her state or location," concluded Draco as he walked towards the bed.

"Why do you stay that?" she questioned arching a perfect brow.

"Most of London is destroyed. Now answer this, why would one recently woken from a coma, and likely an amnesic be wondering the streets alone at night?" he questioned. "The answer: she woke up in an abandoned, partially destroyed hospital and had no idea as to where she was. If Potter and his posy had known of her location, they would have surely taken her away from there a long time ago."

"Yes, I see your point. But this is amazing. We can use her to our advantage and literally destroy any lasting resistance. Hopefully the lord understands what possibilities this holds and shan't kill her."

"I doubt he will. He has a plan that involves her. I do not know what it is just yet but I intend to find out."

**Hello everyone. Well I do apologize for the long wait but I have decided to take this story in on a rather different path, hence causing me to change much of the pre established plot. I know that many things have been left unexplained, but this has been done for a reason. For the next few chapters, I wish to establish the environment before truly thickening the plot so bare with me. I hope that it has somewhat spurred your interest however. Any advice is greatly appreciated, since through this experience I truly wish to improve my own writing. So please, do leave a review and tell me what you think of my attempt at writing so far.**

**Also, I find it an interesting idea for authors to provide a picture for some of their characters particularly the les well established ones. My interpretation of Pansy can be found on my profile, and as the story progreses, I plan to add other character pictures if this is something that you all find favorable so do include your views on this in REVIEWS! **

**-Gem**


	3. Chapter 3: Confusion

**Uncertain Circumstances**

Chapter 3: Confusion

The following morning found Draco Malfoy sitting at the dining room table, enjoying an early breakfast.

Dawn had barely swept over the horizon, announcing the commencement of yet another day, filled with bright new possibility.

Yet as he sat there, blankly staring at the front page of the Daily Prophet, the young Malfoy felt strangely empty for the first time in months.

A clear lack of sleep was visible in the heavy pools of violet underneath his eyes, contrasting deeply against his pale skin.

Her screams had kept him up all night.

Even though he had the possibility of casting a silencing charm, he couldn't allow himself to.

The frightful screeches served as a perverse reminder of times long gone, and things to come.

The newspaper held no maters of interest for him thus soon being discarded to one side of the heavily polished table.

He sipped at his cup of tea, grey eyes vacantly gazing out the large French windows and into the lush garden.

The view reminded him of a time long gone; a time when he still held on to childish innocence, as he played underneath the warm gaze of the British sun in his mother's gardens.

Her pride and joy.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco Malfoy had had a surprisingly blissful childhood. He hadn't been fed muggle limbs for breakfast nor forced to drink their blood at super. Nor had he been Crucioed every time he mispronounced a word.

At least not at first.

An only child, he had been his mother's pride and joy, as well as the object of her constant attentions.

She had fawned over him during every second the day had to offer, ensuring that her only son never once went without.

He was bathed in gifts of every shape and kind while also being moulded into the image of the perfect gentleman.

A perfect pureblood.

His impeccable manners and endearing dimpled smile often caused all of his mother's friends to fawn all over him upon every occasion.

He remembered the days when his parents would host elaborate parties at the manor. His mother would dress him in impressive, impeccably tailored dark dress robes that matched those of his father.

She would then send him out to mingle, for after all, any Malfoy was born a charmer.

As for Lucius Malfoy, he had been the perfect father, teaching his one and only son how to ride a broom and play Quidditch. The young Draco had idolized his father and for good reason.

Their family had been the picture of perfection.

Those had been carefree days. Days when his parents still cared for one another; days before his family was abruptly torn apart; days before the arrival of the terror.

Voldemort.

Everything had changed afterwards.

Draco remembered coming home after his first year at Hogwarts and finding a radically different household.

No longer was the manor the warm and inviting place of his childhood. It was now cold, as if imitating his father's heart. It was haunted by the phantoms of memories long gone.

Lucius had started drinking.

The stress of his old master's arrival was too intense for him to accept with a sober mind. Often, when plans failed, Lucius would take out his anger on Narcissa.

Draco could still remember her screams as night, followed by the hollow sounds of crashing furniture.

There was nothing he could do. She kept him away for his own good, even though seeing his mother like that killed him inside.

Her beautiful aristocratic features would often be marred by black and blue.

She never was the same after that.

Yet Narcissa loved her husband with all her heart, and no matter what he did to her, she always submitted to his wills.

It was a love bordering obsession.

It was deadly.

And now in later years she still clung to it desperately, as if it were her only bridge to reality.

Draco however, contrasted her deeply in his feelings for his father.

He loathed the very ground that Lucius had walked on. Nevertheless, this strong hatred had been a product of the years.

At first, he had continued to worship his father, choosing to ignore his many faults. Young Draco desperately tried to please his father in any way possible, though that had become a seemingly unattainable task.

It was never enough.

Never.

It was as if Lucius gained a sick, twisted pleasure from always mentally pushing his son down and doubting and criticizing his every action.

Nevertheless, Draco continued in his quest for approval. It became his fixation. Many of his actions in later years of schooling were a direct result of this obsession, and not something that he was proud of now.

Eventually though, he lost that fire in his heart that urged him onwards. He remembered clearly the day when it happened.

It was the day when he was first brought forth in front of the Dark Lord, along with all his other fellow young initiates. That evening, the Dark Lord forced everyone to take of their mask and watch as he tortured and raped a young mudblood before their eyes.

Those who depicted any emotion other than malicious content were Crucioed on the spot.

Draco had known her, vaguely remembering her to have been years older than he, and also attending Hogwarts. He remembered the girl's piercing screams and the way she looked him in the eyes, pleading for help.

It had only made him smirk in return.

Surprisingly, he had been unaffected.

Draco remember gazing up in search for his father, however, whom he soon found standing among the older Death Eaters. Then, he noticed a flicker of fear pass his features, as he forced himself to watch the grotesque site before him.

At that moment, Draco lost all respect for his father; the man who permanently forced an ice exterior to take over his actions was really nothing but a coward.

There was nothing worth proving to a coward.

As he moved his eyes back of the sight of the mudblood, his gaze lingered on the Dark Lord for a few brief seconds. The demon was looking back at him, a calculating look had taken over his features.

Draco remembered the feeling of his mind being probed by piercing bright eyes, before the creature smiled slowly at him. He didn't doubt that Voldemort had known exactly what Draco had been thinking, and it seemed to please him.

In later months, this clear contempt for his father seemed to aid him.

He had failed the Dark Lord in killing Dumbledor, something that angered him greatly.

Voldemort, however, blamed his father, and ordered the young Malfoy to prove his allegiance.

He ordered him to raise his wand against his own father.

To kill him for he had become of no use.

This would have to serve as a warning to all those who watched.

And many did watch in anticipation, excited by the prospect of the mighty Lucius Malfoy's downfall.

...

He found himself glancing out the window for what was probably the tenth time in the past minute. Even though no one was there, he still carried the terrifying feeling that someone would come crashing through the door of the tiny cottage any minute. This feeling followed him around everywhere.

Paranoia.

It had become part of his existence. But really, who could blame him after all that he had gone through. All those whom he had cared for were gone.

Dead.

Killed in their last, and most brutal battle.

Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Lupin, George, Moody, Lavender, Dean, Ginny.

Sweet Ginny how he missed her.

The list went on. There had been hundreds of casualties. There were only a handful of Order members left, who still fought onwards.

It had become their purpose in life. Yet he saw the look etched on all of their faces. A product of the many things that they had seen. Things that no human should ever be forced to witness. The look was a result of the numerous sleepless nights caused by horrific nightmares that depicted the reality in which they were forced to exist. Their faces were aged beyond their years, their bodies broken and minds fatigued.

This war was not the stuff of faerie tales, where honourable warriors fought a just and noble fight, both sides striving to protect their people, and allowing their adversary to always pick the remains of their fallen post battle. On the contrary, this had been a gruesome and bloody war that had undoubtedly left all those involved scarred for life with the images of pain torture and violence.

He could still hear the screams of pain in his head, they followed him around everywhere. It partially shocked him to know that he himself had inflicted some of said pain. The light side had fought far from honourably, matching their opponents stride by stride in every move. Almost.

He shuddered to remember what had been done to the war prisoners the torture inflicted upon the men. The women being used as servants, raped and mutilated.

For Harry Potter life had began to boarder the unbearable. Yes, he still lived. And yes, he would continue fighting till the end. Truthfully though, there was nothing worth fighting for.

He fought for the lives of generations to come and nothing more. All those who had once served as his inspiration were long gone. As for him, he could not ever imagine a life without them.

Not now not ever.

He was tired.

Tired of fighting, tired of living. All he really wished to do was end it for once and for all and restore a certain sense of normality for those who were left.

Yet during the long days he faced following the terrible battle, a new emotion had edged its way into his soul.

Selfishness.

He didn't really care that much. Not anymore. All those who had meant something to him were gone, so why fight for a future devoid of happiness? Why fight for the lives of those to come, when he himself had been forced to live a less than happy life?

He had practically been born only to fight, never truly understanding the concept of happiness. He saw the way those around him had always looked at him. He was only a tool.

So why fight for something, without ever being able to enjoy the aftermath and ravel in the victory? The prophecy said it all, one could not die if the other still lived.

So why should he go through all of that, only to ultimately die? At times, he wondered whether Voldemort hadn't really been sent by some divine force, to cleans the wizarding world of all its vice. To push them down a few step and make them realize that they were not the gods which they represented themselves as being.

For once in his life, Harry Potter simply wished to give up, a thought which of recent times seemed to consume his every thought.

But give up and do what?

...

She began to stir, slowly awakening from a deep sleep. She relished in the feeling of silken sheets against her skin. Her mind was rather blurry still, not quite taking in the situation at hand just yet.

For now, only her senses were at work.

She felt so deliciously warm and comfortable that all she wished to do was turn around and fall asleep one more. Yet the nagging feeling at the back of her brain prevented her from doing so just yet.

She slowly opened her eyes, taking in her lush surroundings. The bed she lay on was a large canopy bed, clothed in cream coloured sheets. Dark carved mahogany contrasted against the pale green of the walls.

The room was fairly plain, yet completely elegant in its simplicity.

She gazed to her left, hey eyes falling on a large window. The lace curtains were slightly drawn allowing her a view of lush green gardens.

Yet as she lay there, analyzing her surroundings, something felt incredibly off. Her mind seemed completely blank.

Eerily so.

There were no thoughts where there should have been. Yet as she slowly began to panic, a flood of information swept over her taking her breath away.

Hundreds of things flooded her in waves of intensity and for a splitting moment she felt as if her brain would not be able to take it. She remembered books, hundreds of them; a fairytale castle, flaming red hair paired with forget-me-not eyes, round framed glasses, a large ginger cat, a gold and red scarf, and crimson blood, so much of it.

And then everything came back to her. The screaming, the cursing, the green lights, the dead bodies.

Everything came back in a painful gust and she began to scream.

Her head felt as if it were about to explode, the memories pouring in at a preposterous rate. She felt as if her whole body was on fire, the heat concentrating in her palms.

Her eyes were clenched shut, vainly trying to block away the images. She never heard the door open nor did she see the look of absolute shock and amazement that took over Draco Malfoy's features.

The sight in front of him was terrifying, yet intriguingly so.

All the furniture in the room had been raised a few feet of the ground, hovering in thin air. What looked like a tornado or electricity surrounded the mudblood who sat raised on the bed, her eyes shut tight and her hands clutching her temples.

The screaming never stopped.

The energy surrounding her seemed to multiply, as objects in the room were slowly being swept into the hurricane. He debated approaching her, yet decided against it. He prized his head far too much. However, he knew that if he didn't stop her, the display of accidental magic may kill her. The dark lord would not be happy, a scenario which would also cost him his head undoubtedly. So either way, there seemed no chance that by the end of the day, that particular organ would continue to be attached to the rest of his body.

In a moment of brilliance, he pulled out his wand, deciding that the best way to proceed was by stunning her. He did not hesitate to do so, and in an instant, the tornado disappeared, and all the objects which it had attracted dropped to the ground with loud thumps.

He proceeded cautiously into the room, attempting not to step on anything through the process. She lay unconscious on the bed, as if nothing had ever happened.

Draco gingerly grabbed her wrist, measuring her pulse, which still beat at a less than normal rate. He waited a few minutes, before finally deciding to revive her.

She blinked rapidly a few times, before her eyes seemed to adjust to the room, and then focus onto his face. She stared at him for a few long minutes, her eyes never once betraying her emotions.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked in a hard, steady voice.

She nodded.

"Excellent!" he murmured to himself. "Now the better question, Granger, would be what is the last thing you remember?"

"A battle" she whispered, her voice cracking form lack of use. "I remember being hurt, hit by a curse. Then someone stabbed me, I believe," her answer was oddly clinical and calm.

"That's it?" he asked, receiving a nod as confirmation. "Interesting, can you stand?"

In response, she gingerly swung her legs over the side of the bed, and attempted to rise. At first, she stumbled clumsily towards him, causing him to merely take a few steps backwards. He did not particularly wished to be touched by her. Eventually though, she straightened herself, looking up to hold his gaze.

He noted a strange emotion within her eyes. He wasn't sure whether it was defiance or fear.

"Excellent. This does indeed set everything up before schedule. I'll have a healer check you immediately," he said as he began to retreat from the room. "Oh, and do prepare yourself for a visit afterwards. Shall we say it's a rather delayed social call."

He left her then, making sure to lock the door behind him. No use in having her try to escape and get lost through the process. He has briefly concluded that it would be better to tell her as little as possible 

at first, so as to not coincide with Voldemort's own plans. He intended to take her straight to him, the minute the healer finished, no use in wasting time.

...

Roughly an hour later, Hermione Granger found herself walking the all too familiar grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She did not do so under normal circumstances, however. The grounds were dark and sinister, a great contrast to its previous years of glory.

Malfoy's iron grip over her upper hand guided her towards the majestic edifice at a fast pace, that she was barely able to keep up, even though she never let it show.

Her head felt as if it were about to explode. It felt as if her mind was in pain. By this point, however, she was above the point of disorientation and confusion. She had no idea what the hell was going on, but she knew it wasn't good, especially considering she was heading to Hogwarts alongside Draco Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire.

She had of course tried to question him regarding the situation at hand, he however had simply sneered at her and cast a silencing charm without sparing her another glance or word.

Her initial confusion upon waking up in the abandoned hospital came back to her, as she remembered the desolate state of the city.

Of London.

She imagined it might have looked similar to what it had looked like during the Second World War, during the bombing.

She was completely clueless as to what could have possibly caused it. Or at least she liked to pretend that she was. Deep down within her chest, however, a knot of fear had settled itself while in the back of her mind, many unsettling thoughts sprang to life as to what had possibly happened.

This scenario was of course one that explained perfectly why she was being escorted towards Hogwarts, which had initially been the light side's strongest fort.

Needless to say, Hermione Granger was slowly starting to realize how terrified she truly was.

By this point they had entered the castle and made their way to the Great Hall.

Malfoy stood in front of the door for a few seconds as if awaiting some silent permission before entering. He roughly pulled her along towards the center of the room before falling into a deep bow.

By this point, cold realization finally hit Hermione, as she found herself face to face with the subject of many of her worst nightmares. Lord Voldemort himself.

"Bow, you filthy mudblood!" hissed Malfoy pushing her towards the floor. "You should be grateful the Great Lord even allows you to be in his presence."

Hermioen of course refused, glaring daggers at Malfoy, even though she was still unable to speak.

"As feisty and foolish as any Gryffindor," hissed the creature that sat upon the throne at the centre of the room. "Bring her forth Draco so I can have a better look and release her from the charm."

Malfoy did as requested, and Hermione soon found herself staring in astonishment at the serpent like man.

"I have heard of your intelligence young mudblood, however you seem to posses no true wit, for if you did, you would be more cautious considering you current situation. Do not forget whose presence you currently are in, nor the fact that you are beyond blessed to still be alive."

"I'm not scared!" she blew out with rage, forgetting the circumstances. "You may do as you wish with me but I shan't give up a word. I'm sure that soon enough Harry will defeat you and come for me."

Lord Voldemort studied her for a few seconds before breaking out in a high pitched maniacal laughter.

"Is that so?" he mocked, before fixing his glowing eyes upon her own. She felt her mind being pierced by the red orbs and desperately tried to fight him before realizing it was far too late. Her mind was still too weak.

"Hmmm that is very interesting indeed," he finally murmured to no one in particular. "Draco, you may set the mudblood outside for I need to have a chat with you in private."

"Yes m'lord."

Within seconds, Hermione found herself outside the Great Hall and away from the terrifying crimson eyes. She felt herself release a sigh from deep within her chest. She had not realized that she was holding it in.

Malfoy left but not before charming her so she could not move from her spot. She had hoped that he would have been less observant than that, but alas, Lady Fortune seemed to have abandoned her.

Hermione's mind was a blur, and for what felt like hours, she tried to make some sense of the little information that she had been provided. Unfortunately, it all pointed to one direction, and the worst of all possible scenarios. She dared not think what could have possibly happened during her stint in the hospital. However, the rational side of her was convinced that nothing too serious could have occurred in a few days.

After all, that was how long she had been in the hospital, Right?

Soon she was brought out of her thoughts though by heavy footsteps. For a fleeting moment she was overjoyed by the thought of being saved, however, her mind regained consciousness soon after, making her realize that no such thing would occur in Lord Voldemort's layer.

She desperately hoped that whoever it was would leave her alone. Two men rounded the corner. Both were dressed in black robes covered by heavy travelling cloaks. They were both tall with heavy bodies and vulgar, non defined features. One was a bit shorter than the other, and had fiery red hair accompanied by a sprinkle of freckles. For a brief second she wondered whether he may be related to any of the Weaselys, but quickly dismissed that thought considering the circumstances she was in.

Hermione groaned softly as they stopped upon seeing her.

"Look at what we 'ave 'ere!" roared the red haired man, grinning at his companion. "This ain't no place for a young lass such as yourself. You never what unsavoury characters you may bump into."

"Ha, you mean like you two!"snorted Hermione in disgust. She could smell alcohol in the air. It was very much like cheap firewisky.

"If I were you I'd watch my tongue," said the second one, advancing towards her in a predatory fashion. The red haired man howled with laughter before joining his companion. "Because right now I guarantee you I can think up about a hundred different ways in which we could put that tongue of yours to better use."

"So sorry to disappoint but I'm not exactly into threesomes nor Neanderthals for that matter ," she bit back, anger raising in her chest. How exactly did she manage to get herself into these situations?! She found herself praying that Malfoy would come out soon, because even he was better than these two.

The red haired man was in front of within a second, his face contorted in anger. He immediately pulled out a small object, which Hermione soon realized was knife.

"I've just about 'ad enough of you, so you can either come willingly and make it up to us, or I may just have to carve that pretty little face of yours so you learn to listen better." As he said this, he moved the sharp end of the knife across her cheek, administering just enough pressure to slice part of her skin.

Hermione felt the sting but didn't dare show any signs of weakness. She felt a deep knot of fear grab a hold of her heart, and was about to scream when the taller of the two roughly grabbed her upper arm.

"I do suggest you unhand her this instant, Wilkins," ordered a silky cold voice form behind her. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, for the first time in her life being happy to see Malfoy.

"O-of course Lord Malfoy," said the taller man in a panicked voice, immediately letting go of her and bowing his head in obedience. Hermione was surprised by the fear erected my Malfoy who even though tall, was far smaller and less gangly than the two men.

"I may just have to consult our Lord about how to deal with you two. It has come to my attention that you have become rather useless in past months. Failure does not please my lord," continued Malfoy, silently releasing her from the charm and walking up behind her. "Oh and do see that this incident does not occur again, I really do not appreciate apes of your calibre and intellect manhandling my fiancée."

**Hope you all like, I know it took a while for this update but i had a few problems in composing this chapter. From here on it's smooth sailing tough. I have rough drafts of the next few chapters, and a good idea of where I want this story going. As for what's happening, hm well are you confused yet? Don't worry some stuff will be revealed in the next chapter but i do warn you this will not be a very fluffy love story type fic. Please leave me a review with your thoughts and criticisms.**

**-Gem**


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